Shiny new ‘pooter gets overheated…

Oh, shiny new replacement computer, what a LOT of ranting you are going to process today.

Let’s begin with the fact that you need to exist. And that the bargain model I bought last freaking year, 13 months ago (which means one month past the freaking warranty expiration) was supposed to be a great deal. But two netbooks, stripped down to fit my pathetic budget bought within 14 months, means there will be no Christmas, no Hannukah, no new shoes—not even to replace all our white shoes after Labor Day—probably ever again. So screw your predecessor, screw you for existing, and screw you for being so much freaking better than last year’s model. And $10 cheaper. Bastard ‘pooter. I already don’t like you.

And you, Mother’s Day expectations…you suck. Because I hate Hallmark holidays and refuse to purchase Hallmarkiness in response to fabricated sentiment, I feel dirty for looking forward to Mother’s Day. I feel dirty for telling Spouse exactly what I wanted him and Peanut to make me. I feel cheap and hypocritical for smiling every time some says Happy Mother’s Day. And I feel really cheated that I didn’t get to sleep in, didn’t get a second to myself, didn’t get a shower, made my own breakfast (which the Spouse and Peanut refused to eat, thank you very much, to pour insult unctiously over injury). Sure, I have two beautiful, healthy, interesting, adorable, intriguing children to share the day with. And I’m finally, finally, finally home so I could spend the day with my mom and her mom. Everyone’s healthy and happy and really freaking lucky all ’round. But the Hallmarkiness of the holiday is centered around well rested and clean moms, yo. And I felt like a dolt for buying into that shite. I don’t sleep or shower or get any chef appreciation any other day of the year, so how dare I expect it on Mother’s Day?

You know what, I’m gonna leave it at that, ‘pooter. Cuz I don’t think you could handle a rant about all the other stuff making me a sourpuss today. And I can’t afford to lose another of your kind, you little technological bastard.

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16 thoughts on “Shiny new ‘pooter gets overheated…

  1. Bummer about the ‘pooters! That sucks big time. Mothers day sucks too. Happy day, by the way.

    What is this about Spouse refusing breakfast???

    We celebrate the Day here in October, so I get to be doubly and stupidly disappointed twice a year. Want to un-celebrate with me again in a few months? It’s either a second chance, or a really stupid idea – take your pick.

  2. *happy sigh at finding a new rant from you*

    Man, I missed you.

    And feel the same about M’s Day. Stupid Hallmarkiness!

  3. Totally stinks about the ‘pooter selling out on you! Stinks that you did get the pre-packaged Hallmark crap for the holiday. Do REALLY hope you overdosed on Butter’s new baby smell. Because that could help with the ‘pooter rage.

    P.S. Don’t feel bad. My two older boys fought all day long yesterday and my youngest has a rare behind; courtesy of antibiotic-related diarrhea…Your day doesn’t seem so bad, does it?

    • Macondo, I would love to be disappointed with you by being allegedly honored again in six months or so. What a grand and deflating idea! ;-)
      Ink, darling, we should write for Hallmark and compose really nasty “we know you think you get the day off, but who are you fooling, why would today be any different” cards. Good times, those.
      Jen, word. Word to your mama. And to you, Mama.
      Maria, I got the coolest homemade present ever, which I will describe in a future email. But what’s the deal with being stinky and tired and hungry on Mother’s Day? That’s some b.s., if you believe the commercials. Since I actually live in reality, it shouldn’t be a shock. But it was. A bit.

  4. Word to ya mutha is right! No Sleeping In? No Shower? WTFFFFF? Do want me to kick hubby’s ass for you? I will. I’ll beat him over the head with your piece of shit pooter. He’ll be WEARING BREAKFAST ON HIS HEAD!

  5. I was “allowed” to sleep in but the cat had different ideas. I’m going to kill that fucking thing and roast it.

    I am so sorry you were tired and unshowered on your day of Honor. I vote for a do-over.

  6. I’m not big on Mother’s Day. Unless you’re a mom, you just don’t get it. No flowers, cards, chocolates, jewelry can express the true appreciation that should be shown, so I expect nothing.
    And computers, I bite my thumb at thee.

  7. jc, sing it! I totally want you as my henchperson. Takin’ it to the man on slice of french toast at a time.
    TKW I actually laughed out loud at the roasted cat bit. Because I want to kill mine, but didn’t know what to do with afterward…
    Yeah, fae…a pox on Mother’s Day! And don’t come runnin’ to me expecting a great Father’s Day…
    Bloginsong, supposed to, indeed. So are cars and life partners, but that’s another series of lies sold to us by marketers.

  8. “And I feel really cheated that I didn’t get to sleep in, didn’t get a second to myself, didn’t get a shower…”

    Oh did I hear you, or did I hear you.

    {{{hugs}}}

  9. Eggs…. scrambled eggs… and I mean SCRAMBLED for hubby. YOU get lovely french toast with strawberries and bacon. Double bacon.

  10. Hubby learned on my very first mother’s day that the only things I want for mother’s day are the following:

    1. To sleep in
    2. To be left alone — completely alone. Alone time!
    3. To have zero responsibilities

    That first mother’s day, he got me a ridiculous outfit that I never will wear, never have worn. And bought me flowers — can you say allergies? Ah-choo. It ended with a tantrum — my own tantrum — and with a warning that it had better goddamn well never happen again.

    And therefore, we have the rule of three, listed above. I have had an excellent mother’s day every year since, because it’s the one day of the year that I don’t really have to be a mother. Oh, am I a bitch or what? :)

  11. thanks, subWOW and jc. One kicking ass for me and one hugging me so I can’t see the damage. Sweet.
    ck, you make me laugh.
    And Fie, you are not a bitch. As soon as I weaned Peanut I decreed that Mother’s Day would be Mom’s weekend at a hotel. Unfortunately, I’m nursing again, and now live by two generations of my maternal units, so I feel I should honor them. Or some such. I think I’ll go out of town for Father’s Day…

  12. Pingback: Mother’s Day Hangover « Naptime Writing

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